Spies In The Starlight
by PrsctrTails
Summary: A VD/GG AU set in the 1970s. Think of this as VD/GG rolled into an old school spy&espionage novel. I owe many thanks to DarkSupernaturalAngel for the inspiration and motivation. Planning to use as many characters as possible, from both shows.
1. Chapter 1

[Complete and total AU using VD/GG characters. I'll type up a list of spy jargon in a day or so. I do like that authentic touch! Also, I'm open to character usage requests in your reviews! Goal is to use as many as possible]

_West Berlin. Mid-November, 1975. _

The hotel was nice, but nondescript. Almost to the point of being nothing more than space-filler. The rooms were modern and comfy, the guests and tourists liked it because of the Grand staircase

One of the more nondescript rooms in the nondescript hotel was filled with low-pitched snoring and the sounds of decently curly/lengthy hair rustling against a pillow. The callous ringing of the nightstand phone made his eyes shoot open.

"H-hello?" He yawned, in total darkness because of the pulled-shut curtains.

"You have a package outside." The icy female voice said.

"Uh-huh," Dan mumbled, haphazardly rising from the bed. He set the phone down and fetched the thick brown envelope from outside his door. He plucked the phone back up. "And?"

"You have three hours to skim and dive." The voice said, followed by the click of hanging up. Dan knew that to mean he had a decent window to read the contents and properly research them. It was probably yet another dull but somehow critically important surveillance mission. Ah, to be a Lamplighter and Pavement Artist he told himself.

He slid the envelope open and carefully removed the contents. He was nothing if not prudent. The first page seemed almost out of place. In plain font it stated that, "You will be required to wear your Naval Dress Blues and Khakis as often as possible."

Dan groaned. He had enjoyed his time in the Office of Naval Intelligence, but he was CIA now. That, and he still wasn't comfortable being called Lieutenant Humphrey. At least he looked good in the uniform. He guessed that whomever he was shadowing wouldn't be on the lookout for Naval Officers. Besides, his target would have to be very observant if he was going to pick one of the many, many Armed Forces Officers who lived and worked in West Berlin.

Gently shuffling through the papers around his bed, Dan arranged them numerically. He was nothing if not a stickler for protocol. He grabbed a sheet of blank paper and took notes as his eyes blinked across the laid-out sheets.

_Files missing from Embassy in London._

_Files sensitive in nature. Classified Top Secret to F.Y.E.O. _

_US Diplomatic Security Service Special Agent Mason Lockwood is top suspect. Last seen bordering train in Paris. Agency suspects a possible defection to Soviet authorities in East Berlin._

_Retrieving of files is top priority_. 

Dan bit at his bottom lip. This was big. Of course, every assignment that was handed down to him was decently big, but not an off the reservation DSS agent with State Secrets big. He rubbed his chin as he continued to scan the papers. Even for the usual Agency assignment, it was sparsely detailed. It was less like an task and more of a scavenger hunt list.

Replacing the files in the folder, which he tucked under the mattress [Day One of ONI training: No one ever really checks underneath the bed.] He sighed his way into the shower, shaved and brushed his teeth. He grumbled under his breath as he pulled his 'old' Navy uniform from his closet. He had nothing against the Navy, it actually had a special place in his heart, Dan just didn't like how the uniform made him look like an airline pilot.

The white dress shirt with the shoulder marks, reminding him he was still a Lieutenant, looked so bland with the necktie that was required to be tied in the a four-in-hand knot. He was at least happy that he wasn't required to cut his hair. Something about being in his line of work kept people from telling him such things.

He not so humorously struggled with the double-breasted jacket. Buttons were still a little annoying to him. However, he did like the peaked cap. He felt it made him look distinguished.

Shrugging into his Officer's overcoat, which mean more double-breasted buttons, he was out the door and thinking of where he could even start with an assignment like this. It made the most sense that this Mason fellow would probably be looking for help on the Western side of the fence so he could get onto the Eastern side. Dan rolled his neck, well aware that this meant he would get to spend a very chilly morning going through his various contacts and other unseemly figures.

He flagged down a cab and was on a quick ride to a particular café that seemed to exist for people in his profession. When he got there, he offered to pay, but knew that no cabbie would charge him. The uniform did have its perks.

Once inside, he used the tragically cliché yet fun to say line of "_Guten morgen_, how are the fritters today?" It was spy-speak. He knew to ask the question, then to sit at a certain table and wait for whatever representative of whatever intelligence agency would brief. Knowing his luck, he'd be stuck with some _Bundesnachrichtendienst _prick. He just didn't trust Germans. They were too efficient for his taste.

He was tickled pink when a woman sat down across from him. She was decently dark haired and entirely pleasant to look at.

"Nice uniform, Ensign." The lady said.

"Lieutenant," Dan corrected. "I thought I was retired."

"Oh, all you Cousins are such bores," She said. "I'm Rose. From the Circus."

"Central Intelligence." He added, nodding politely. He always liked interacting with MI6. They were snippy and brooding. Always a good combination. "I'm here for some help."

"And I thought you were here for fashion tips. Leather jackets are in this winter." Rose quipped.

"Some very important files took a walk from our Embassy in London. Both 6 and The Competition must be really embarrassed you couldn't catch them in your own backyard." Dan smiled.

"Not any more embarrassed than you all are for having one of your own do the stealing," Rose smiled back. "What do you know?"

"Very little. Not even a name," Dan lied, per his orders and training. "This is my first stop."

"I've only been here three months, all the good sources belong to one of my BND friends."

"Who?"

"What can you give me?" Rose asked, gamely sticking up for The Queen and Her Realm. She was a proud member of Her Majesty's Secret Service.

"An assurance that we won't tell you that one of our midlevel embassy Guard Dogs was able to slip past all your home agents." Dan said, giving a hint of that crooked little smile he knew women liked for some reason. Rose, knowing it was a good deal and impressed by the young man's charm, quickly caved.

"Pack your bags, Lieutenant Humphrey," Rose said, showing she remembered a little from the file MI6 had on him. "My BND guy is in Vienna. Go to the Hotel Imperial and ask for Klaus."

"Yes, Ma'am," Dan said, donning his peaked cap as he rose from the table. He snapped off a quick salute to the oddly helpful Rose. His eyes were on her as he left. Her eyes were on the longhaired fellow in the designer jacket that followed Dan out of the bar.


	2. Cloak

As his shoes click-clacked against the pavement, Dan played tried to organize the thoughts in his head.

_An American, a DSS agent no less, walked out of his own Embassy with apparently really important files. And now I have to fly to Vienna? _

Young former Lieutenant Humphrey never liked it when he felt his own superiors knew more than they were telling him. He reasoned he should have been worthy of some sort of trust. If he were a betting man, he would have bet that there was already a CIA Blade Runner at or around West Berlin. He shuddered at having to interact with a company assassin.

Stealing a glance at his watch, Dan reasoned that there was no way he could leave the city without informing his shadowy superiors. Rose from MI6 clearly knew more than she was letting on, but he had no desire in chasing her down. His previous posting had been in London, and he had discovered that members of Her Majesty's Secret Service could be decently hard to track down when they wanted to be.

Hailing and hopping a cab, he was quickly off to yet another café. Though, this one was easily on the more stylized side. Dan groaned slightly at what he was about to do.

Once arrived, he swept inside with rigid posture. He sighed to himself as he strode up to an elevator for brief upwards ride. He somehow managed to appear dignified as he took his normal seat at a corner table with a lovely view of the city. Dan politely ordered some coffee; hoping extensive cream and sugar would calm him for the coming storm.

The hurricane of lithe limbs hollow golden hair immediately made him rise from his chair. Dan liked to think he was polite.

"… Dan Humphrey," Serena said, face not overly happy. "It's weird to see you in a setting where you're not trying to sneak out."

Dan was pretty sure he deserved that. Their last conversation of any depth had consisted of him stumbling out of her bed, trying to hop into his clothes. It had been hard since she was screaming and throwing things at him. "Yes, that wasn't my finest hour."

"So much for the whole Officer and a Gentleman thing, right?" She said, causing Dan to gulp slightly.

"Well, last I checked your barhopping in Piccadilly Circus probably didn't meet the standards of the US Secret Service," Dan calmly shot back. "I thought we agreed to leave all that behind us. This is Berlin, not London. We're back to being friends. You said so yourself."

Serena hated it when Dan was the voice of reason. She relented and gave a smile. "What does the Navy need?"

"I'm still with the Agency," Dan explained. "This is just part of my cover."

"Aww," Serena giggled a bit. "It's kind of nice to see Lieutenant Humphrey back in action."

"What action? I lived in a tiny corner office. They didn't even trust me with a gun."

"Yes, but Naval Blue and Khaki suited you well. And it's better than my cover. Supposedly I'm a writer for some magazine," She said in that breathless sort of way. "Right, what does the Agency need?"

"Tips," He answered, sipping his coffee.

"Let me guess, something to do with a security issue in London?"

"I see you still have better sources than I do," Dan smirked. "The Cousins turned me on to some BND agent in Vienna. Klaus. Do you guys have anything on him?"

Serena knew of the name, in the same way she knew about the boogeyman. "He's a bit of a ghost. A mutual friend at MI5 said he helps when it helps him."

"Very German." Dan rolled his eyes.

"Who gave you the tip?"

"Rose, from MI6. Is she in the clear?"

"Oh, yes," Serena laughed. "She's their pointperson down here who chats with lost Americans."

"Way to make me feel good about my tradecraft skills," Dan laughed along. "So I'm good to fly out?"

"Should be," Serena nodded. "It's Vienna, Dan. Not Saigon. You'll probably be safe in most places."

Dan leaned forward, sighing a little. "This morning I was ordered to track down and follow whoever stole the files from our Embassy in London. That's pretty big. If this guy is trying to defect with all that info, I don't like the idea of the people I might run across."

"You can't seriously think you're the only one looking on our side?" She asked, a little incredulous. "Some prettyboys from Army Intelligence landed last night. This city is getting pretty busy."

"And the Blade Runner?" Dan asked, hesitant. Like every other intelligence agent from a Western country, he hated thinking about those guys and their specific job. Greater good or not, it was nightmare worthy.

"Nothing yet," She shrugged, her eyes darting over to another table. Dan's gaze followed her. She shook him off. "There's a ball at the American Embassy tonight. You need to find your bosses in one place, and I need to look like I have a date."

"I can do that," Dan nodded, not sure which fact he was focusing on. "What time?"

"Pick me up around seven tonight. Wear that," She said, pointing and laughing. "No, mind walking me to my car?"

He didn't. He donned his cap and overcoat and escorted her out. Trying to be nice, he even got her car door for her. Dan was bemused that she had a cherry-red BMW and he was stuck with taxis. She gestured for him to kneel closer. She handed him a blank business card with some info scribbled on it. Dan quickly read it.

"Nate Archibald, Military Intelligence Corps" He repeated. "What's this about?"

"One of the Army pretty boys," She whispered. "You need to find him."

"Gotcha. But why?" Dan asked.

"Because someone has been following you since you first got to the restaurant. And it isn't him." Serena said. Dan nodded as he shut her car door and she sped off. He casually adjusted his peaked cap as he tried to walk calmly knowing he was being followed. In his line of work, being followed rarely ended well.


	3. Jargon

Spy Jargon

**Angels** - Local, non-allied security services.

**BND- **West German Intelligence agency

**Backbearings** - A method of gathering information using indirect evidence or information to determine a fact. By determining what someone doesn't know and is asking questions about, the agent can then determine what that person does know.

**Bearleader** - The people charged with organizing and running an operation.

**Blade Runner- **An agent charged with killing a rogue agent from the same agency.

**Burrower** - Researcher

**Circus** - British Intelligence (MI6) Also called Her Majesty's Secret Service

**Competition** - British Security Service (MI5)

**Cousins** – How MI6 and the CIA refer to each other.

**Ferrets** - The people who check for listening devices.

**Guard Dogs- **Marines and Diplomatic Security Service personnel who work at/for US Embassies around the globe.

**Handwriting** - An agent's habits, technique, _modus operandi_

**Housekeeper/Housekeeping** - Human Resources department, responsible for maintaining cover identities and agents (joes)

**Janitors** - Building security personnel

**Joe** - The term for an agent out in the field who is being operated by British/American intelligence agencies. The joe is not always a citizen/worker of the opposition.

**Lamplighters** - The people who carry out surveillance, clear drop boxes, intercept mail, etc. Based in Acton.

**Leash-dogs** - People who are trained to follow pedestrians.

**Make a pass** - Make overt contact with an agent (joe).

**Moscow Centre** - Soviet Intelligence

**Mothers** - Secretaries

**Pavement artists** - People who are trained to secretly follow an individual on the street.

**Put out smoke** - When an agent makes a showy display of his or her cover identity in order to give their cover legitimacy.

**Recycling** - Sending defectors back to continue spying before anyone knows they are gone.

**Rumpus Room** - The meeting room on the fifth floor of the circus.

**Scalphunters** - The people who handle the dirty work (ie. kidnapping, bringing defectors across the border). Based in Brixton.

**Shoemakers** - Forgers

**Wranglers** - Radio/signals operators, code breakers


	4. Dagger

[If anyone can spot the James Bond reference, I'll be very proud and impressed.]

Knowing all the tricks of his trade gave Dan an edge. He had spent the last three and a half years of his life learning how to follow people and not be seen. Flatly speaking, he was insulted that someone was trying to tail him. Even more insulting was the fact that someone somewhere felt that he needed to be trailed. He may not have been that high up, but somewhere in his desk in his windowless and cramped little office he still had a flip-open wallet with CIA credentials inside. He was supposed to do the following.

He was only slightly worried that whoever was following him was actually intending harm. Besides, Dan hadn't done anything wrong. He was merely following the orders of a voice over the telephone. Surely that didn't warrant a bullet in the back of the head or jungle wiring in a dank alley.

Stopping at a crosswalk, Dan, pretending to be stretching, pointed to a bookstore; brazenly signaling whomever was so interested in him. Dan reasoned he was at least owed the decency of knowing what was going on. If this was a kill mission of some sort, being in a crowded shop prevented use of gun. His overcoat and uniform would probably make stabbing decently difficult. That was two of the more efficient methods of assassination out of the way.

He crossed the street to the shop and went inside, never once turning around. Dan ignored proper decorum and did not remove his Officer's cap. He reasoned someone would really have to want him dead to attempt a living daylights hit on someone in uniform. Though, he knew there were KGB and Volkspolizei types who were certainly crazy/zealous enough to try it.

Dan wormed his way through the quaint by deceptively expansive shop. He eventually settled in what appeared to be the Military History section. It was walled off by shelves of books forming an uppercase L, leaving him secluded enough to speak above a whisper and not risk blowing his cover. He groaned at the irony of the subject matter. He waited patiently as the well dressed but shaggy haired stalker eventually appeared. His clothes were casual, but clearly expensive. Dan relaxed, knowing that Blade Runners and all other assorted contract killers were rarely what would pass for well-dressed.

"What's this about?" Dan asked bluntly.

"Honestly?" The British accent sounded. "Nothing. Bloody nonsense if you ask me."

"You're just following me through the streets of Berlin for the fun of it?" Dan inquired, a little infuriated that it was a British tail. Those Cousins really got on his nerves sometimes.

"We're on the same mission," the stalker answered. "Forgive my manners, I'm Trevor." He said, offering a hand.

"Five or Six?" Dan asked, shaking the outstretched hand.

"Neither," Trevor answered, smiling just a little. "Defense Intelligence Staff."

Dan nodded, having never seen an actual DIS agent in person before. Today was like a Scavenger Hunt of intelligence agencies. "You're a Guardsman?"

"Yes," Trevor nodded. "I didn't wear the red uniform today. It wouldn't have blended in well."

"Imagine how I feel," Dan jokingly groused. "I'm guessing we're both operating from the same file."

"Probably," Trevor nodded. "Though, you're after your countries' files. I'm after mine."

"Beg pardon?" Dan asked, finally removing his hat.

"Your Mr. Lockwood also walked out of your Embassy with one or two of things that might belong to us," The Brit explained, trying not to betray any tells or facial cues. He removed his scarf and bundled it in his hands. "Hence, I'm here."

"Makes sense," Dan nodded. "Any sign of him being around?"

"Nothing much yet," Trevor shrugged. "Odds are West Berlin is just one of his many possible destinations."

Dan nodded and took a seat in an adjacent chair as he rubbed at his chin. His razor burn was just enough to bug him. "So, DIS. You guys are pretty well respected."

"Nobody does it better." Trevor bragged, plucking a book of the shelf as he took a seat. The two began to slowly pour over the small tidbits of information their superiors and handlers had given them. Both knew the exact same thing: basically a name and nothing else.

Elsewhere in West Berlin, at the needlessly lavish awkward Hotel Berolina, three US Army Officers with almost absurdly young looks sat huddled around a balcony table.

"It's freezing. Someone tell me why we're outside." Second Lieutenant Tyler Lockwood griped.

"I like the cold." First Lieutenant Nate Archibald answered, his being the Commanding Officer of the trio making it a perfectly valid reason. Second Lieutenant Jeremy Gilbert merely shrugged. Cold didn't faze him much.

"It's not that bad," Jeremy said. "At least it's clear outside." This was important because it made it easier for him to doodle the Berlin skyline on a napkin.

"Stop complaining, you two," Nate almost barked. "You two should be happy I don't enforce the hair length rules."

"We wouldn't be very good at being discreet if we all had buzzuts." Tyler said, just a little petulant. This earned the slightest of giggles from Jeremy, which in turned earned Jeremy a quick wink from Tyler. Nate rolled his eyes.

"I've been doing this for almost four years," The First Lieutenant said. "The two of you can't even combine for two years. So what I say goes."

"Miss your beauty sleep?" Jeremy asked. Nate felt his eye twitch.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's like the Rose girl joked about when we met up last night," Jeremy tried to explain through suppressed chuckles. "She said you seemed the type to get mad when you don't get your required eight hours."

Jeremy and Tyler exploded into laughter as soon as the sentence was finished. Nate again could only roll his eyes. Try as he may, he couldn't really be mad at his two subordinates. Their constant yet endearing feuding kept him laughing, which in turn kept him feeling young.

"Back to work," Nate said, working not to laugh. "Summarize those reports, then see if you can't find us a Lamplighter for some help." He said, rising from his seat and heading inside and to the door.

"Where are you going?" Tyler asked.

"Out to eat," Nate answered with a smirk. "So hurry up and make me look good." He said, exiting his hotel room.

"We're agreed that he's a little bit of a dick, right?" Jeremy asked, shifting his attention to the mind-numbing dullery of official dispatches.

"Right." Tyler answered.


	5. Distances

"So, no clue where your uncle is?" Jeremy asked. Tyler shook his head.

"I never even knew where his postings where. I thought he was in South America or something." Tyler answered, rubbing his nose. Jeremy nodded.

"It's our luck that we pulled this assignment." Jeremy said, trying to deflect away from the awkward familial elements of their current case file. He reasoned that some set of rules should have existed to make sure conflicts of interest like this didn't happen. Though, the rules went out the window when whitefolder files walked out of Embassies and were in all likelihood making their way to the realm of the Iron Curtain. Had Mason Lockwood done anything else besides what he was currentlly acccused of doing, they would have sent anyone else. The thing was, their trio was _very_ good at what they did.

Nate was something between a detective and a Golden Retriever, able to solicit information from anyone with minimal effort. Tyler was distracting eyecandy and useful muscle that actually had a sharp, goal-oriented mind behind it. Tyler played up the fact that people tended to write him off as a sort of goon to be used only for roughing up the occasional suspect. And Jeremy? Jeremy was scarily good at seeing things. His first day 'on the job', he had picked a deepcover KGB agent out of a crowd in a packed airport. But somewhat unknown to him, the young Second Lieutenant's best skill was that unless you were in his small circle of friends, he was impossible to spot. Tyler would often joke that whenever he was in uniform [a rarity for the three of them, another perk of investigative work], Jeremy resembled a ghost wearing Olive Green.

"This whole thing just _sucks_," Tyler said, rolling his head back with the slightest of groans. Jeremy nodded along, also decently panged by this whole thing. He had met Mason Lockwood a few times and had decided he was a nice enough guy. He really hadn't seemed like someone who would up and walk off with folders of state secrets. Tyler was correct in his assumption. "And we're stuck in Germany. In the winter. Could this get any worse?"

"We could be back in our cubicles in DC." Jeremy shrugged. That sounded worse to him.

"Good point," Tyler nodded. Rubbing his sore-from-reading eyes, he let out what Jeremy insisted was his trademark growl. "At least now we're trapped in a hotel room."

"Our CO's hotel room," Jeremy corrected with an eye roll. "He gets a suite, and we're stuck with two double beds."

"So it's college, right?" Tyler asked, his face slipping into a quick smile.

"Exactly," Jeremy smiled along, fondly remembering their days at Washington & Lee University back in Virginia. "Except we now have guns for some reason."

"Who knows when we might run into something dangerous?" Tyler asked, not really believing his own question.

"What's the closest we've ever gotten to dangerous?" Jeremy rhetorically asked.

"If I knew, I'd tell you." Tyler groused.

"Exaclty. We can finish all this later, you wanna grab something to eat?"

"I'm up for food, but can you run out and get it?" Tyler asked. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Sure thing," Jeremy nodded, giving Tyler a compionable squeeze on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Jer," Tyler said absentmindedly, not realizing his use of the almost pet name. Jeremy just smiled as he went for his jacket. It was some black leather, fuzzy-collared collaberation that Elena had sent to him before he had left for Berlin. "Forget something?"

Jeremy looked up to see Tyler holding up Jeremy's holstered gun and badge. It was a very good thing that Lieutenant Archibald didn't know how clumsy he secretly was. With a sigh and a sheepish smirk, Jeremy managed to pin and clip the holster to his belt and stuff his badge in his pocket."Any requests?"

"Pastries." Tyler said as he tried to settle comfortably in a chair. He gave a very mock salute as Jeremy turned on his heels to leave. He didn't speak a word of German, but he reasoned he at least knew what a bakery looked and smelled like. He shrugged a little, the cold whipping his face quickly. Something about this city was just a little pleasantly dreary. It was a pretty city, certainly. The skyline had risen beautifully from the smoldering ash of what WWII had done to them. He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to make sure his jacket covered his gun. He certainly didn't want his cover to be blown like that.

Second Lieutenant Gilbert shook his head slightly, almost a bit overrun by the situation. He wasn't entirely okay with a mission that consisted of having to take his best friend's uncle into custody. It was mindnumbing, to say the least. His always racing mind was soon distracted by the smell of baking dough and sugar. Now this was an easier mission.

Following his nose alone [he considered it a fun little game when he didn't use maps or street signs, merely senses], Jeremy found himself looping through the streets, entirely losing himself in the wonderful maze of buildings. Maybe Tyler was right, maybe massively unhealthy pastries would improve the overall quality of the situation.

If it was his hunger that led him to baked goods, it was his training that spotted the guy across the street.

Across the street. Leather jacket, decently lengthy hair. Jeremy had seen the exact same person in a picture from a lengthy dossier on his current assignment. He really hated when work happened in real time. But, he knew the drill. Follow the subject, gather any and all possible info and report back to First Lieutenant Archibald. At least he got to use all the expensive espionage training. It had to be good for something. This was a little standard to him. He never actually brought people in, he just followed people around. It was odd, but he liked it.

Jeremy knew this would probably end at a hotel or a bar, most followings did, but that still didn't mean he was happy to do something besides menial research in hotel rooms. Now? Now he was tailing a total stranger and trying to look like he blended in. It was a nice change of pace, if only for its overall oddness.

Most people when they walked, acted normal. They looked around, sometimes stopped and browsed. Whoever Jeremy was following hadn't stopped walking, they just made turn after turn. It was really annoying, Jeremy thought to himself. He was supposed to be fetching cinnamon rolls, not following some guy who for some reason appeared to be actively trying to lead him into an alley behind an empty construction site.

_Oh, shit._

"Hands in the air!" Jeremy yelled, pulling his gun and aiming squarely at the stranger. "In the air!"

"Good Lord, it took you _that_ long?"

"Shut up!" Jeremy barked back, totally unsure of the protocol for any of this. "Who are you?"

"Well aren't you Sherlock Holmes. Great question. Has that ever worked?"

Jeremy merely took a few cautious steps forward to get a better look at figure his pistol was trained on.

"Huh," said the all too calm figure, inspecting the pistol. "Looks like...a SIG P210. Standard issue for overseas officers with Military Intelligence Corps." He said matter of factly. "I've got the newer model." He said, moving his jacket to reveal a holstered SIG P220.

This wasn't good. Who in the Hell had he followed. "Where's Mason Lockwood?" Jeremy asked.

"Not here." Was the answer, which by express definition was a correct answer to an open ended question.

"Do you know where he is?" Jeremy asked, nervous but doing his best not to show it.

"Nope. But my job isn't to find him."

"Then what is your job?" Jeremy gulped.

"That's enough, Jeremy," A voice chimed from behind him. "Put your gun down and get back to the hotel. No one was ever here."

"Sir?" Jeremy repeated, turning to see his Commanding Officer behind him.

"You did fine," Nate said, taking a few calm steps forward. "I'll take it from here. Okay?"

Jeremy nodded and holstered his weapon. His completely perplexed face shifting between the two figures. He walked away like he'd just seen bloody murder. This left Nate and the mysterious figure in the alley.

"Wow, you guys hire young."

"He's beyond qualified," Nate countered. "What does the Agency want sending you here? We don't need a Blade Runner. Not yet."

"Someone begs to differ."

"We especially don't need you." Nate almost spat.

"Oh? I'm hurt."

"Damon Salvatore," Nate began. "Former Army Ranger, Former member of the French Foreign Legion. Now you're some monstrous shadow the CIA dusts off when someone leaves the reservation." He said, speaking in a wonderfully uppity way.

"I prefer the term necessary asset." Damon corrected, entirely too smiley.

"You're a blunt instrument," Nate corrected. "My orders to get the files back supercedes your kill form. Got it?"

"I like how you assume we answer to the same people." Damon said, face losing a bit of its humor. "And you're a real dick for just being an Army guy."

"Listen, I'm not going to tell you how to do whatever horror it is that you do," Nate said. "All I ask is you give us the standard week to find Mason Lockwood before you try and kill him."

"You've got six days left." Damon said, eyebrows lowering as he turned to leave. "And keep _both_ of your underlings away from me."

Nate arched an eyebrow. He hated it when people were smarter than him. 


End file.
